


Both Organizer and Destroyer

by bowlofsurreal



Series: Beauty Is Mysterious As Well As Terrible [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, Casual Sex, Cunnilingus, Explicit Language, F/F, Polyamory, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 11:04:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6608275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bowlofsurreal/pseuds/bowlofsurreal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cait cuts Rocky's hair at Sanctuary, overlooking the river and the footbridge and maybe Cait's a romantic after all. They fuck, they swear, they drink whiskey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Both Organizer and Destroyer

One suppressed .50 round shot, and the suicider explodes into a burst of nuclear fire, mid-stride at full speed towards the two women taking cover behind a destroyed billboard on top of a cliff. "Goddamn,” Cait says, in a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

After accidentally stumbling into a satellite array turned super mutant base, Rocky and Cait had rushed back to take cover in an elevated position.

“What the fuck.” Rocky finally says in a whisper, more of a statement than a question. She reloads the clip on her sniper rifle and runs her fingers through her curly mop of black hair.

"Stupid human, stop hiding," comes the booming sound of a super mutant's far off voice.

The two women nod at each other and turn back towards the array. Cait lets out an animal sound as jumps to her feet, closing the distance between her and a super mutant waving a board around, swatting the air. She empties her shotgun into its chest. She keeps squeezing the trigger as it clicks empty, the body of the super mutant already slumping to the ground.

Cait looks up and sees a body falling from one of the massive satellites, and then another. It's finally still, the way ahead is clear.

Rocky's a good shot. She jumps down to meet Cait on the road.

Rocky digs a carton of dirty water from her bag, the soft tick-tick-tick of the Geiger counter on her Pip-Boy as she gulps it down. Wiping her mouth, she tosses the rest to Cait, thankful that she doesn’t have one of those things on her arm as she kills the rest—fuck a couple more rads here or there, right?

They had run into every ammo-wasting situation possible on the 6 hour trip from Diamond City to Sanctuary. “This is so bullshit,” Rocky shakes her head as she rummages through the rest of their supplies, taking stock.

They’re short on bullets, short on water, short on everything—considering they’d made the trip out to scav for supplies. It’s disgusting out. Cait can’t wait to get out of this goddamn heat. They'd been arguing about if they should go through the town or around, take high ground or low, cross the bridge or follow the water and risk maybe “getting our arses pinched by some giant crabs or some shite,” Cait quipped.

But then Rocky put on her "Boss" voice and said, "we're going the fuck around" like every syllable was sharp. Cait snorted and held her hands up but didn't say anything else. Until now.

“We should’ve gone through town,” Cait restates her point, squinting at Rocky, gesturing to the now-empty super mutant camp, shielding her eyes from the sun. Cait does nothing to hide her smugness.

Rocky rolls her eyes and pulls her ushanka hat on her head, wisps of hair escaping the front. "Fuck off," she says shoving Cait's shoulder.

They both hike their bags up and continue, weaving off-road through the trees hoping to catch a break and get home faster. They play fuck-marry-kill to make the time pass; Cait keeps only using "fuck" or "kill", never "marry."

"Fuck and then kill," she says with a wry little smirk, about the tin can Paladin that Rocky lets hang around for whatever reason. That's as close as she gets to any variance.

"That's not how the game works, C."

Cait scoffs, "I was never much good with rules, anyhow."

Cait is a lot stronger than Rocky, but never mentions it—the other woman gets combative when presented with facts like those: true but unflattering. So they split the gear evenly even though the redhead could’ve easily taken on, at least, a quarter more supplies. They get into it all the time: bickering about everything under the fucking sun. If not this, then that.

Cait swears Rocky’s going to cripple herself, but she’s just as stubborn about that as anything else. “Hell, I’m not carrying you back when you break your leg,” is all Cait says. She catches Rocky smile about it, as she croons a singsong "oh-kay" because they both know Cait’s lying.

Cait isn't always right, but she's not the kind of woman to admit she's wrong. Instead, she says, "do what you want, love" and hopes they don't get killed for it later. Cait's got a lot of opinions and is more than happy to make them known, but she knows she doesn't call the shots.

Rocky can be a bit self-righteous, most hero types are, there ain't a question about it. Cait would say it to her face but also knows Rocky's good people. She's the only one around that gives a damn if Cait's alive or dead. Cait's got enough experience to know that's a rare breed.

Rocky had proven herself to be a cut throat bitch, but anyone who knew anything was aware that she had the kind of empathy that must've been frozen in that vault with her for all those years. Shit was in short supply these days.

By the time they reach the old Red Rocket outside Sanctuary, Cait’s powerfist feels like it weighs a ton, splattered in bloodbug guts. Bloodbugs being both disgusting and unsatisfying to smash and so, Cait’s least favorite opponent.

Rocky gave Cait that furious powerfist one night camped out under the stars. She told the Irishwoman the story of how she had drunkenly taken pot shots as a plastic swan boat floating in Boston Common. And how that shitty plastic swan had emerged from that murky, radiated pond and revealed itself to be a behemoth, roaring and splashing as it came after her.

“You’re shitting me,” Cait had said plainly, but the brunette laughed and shook her head.

“Fuck no, for real,” Rocky grinned as she described her less than epic battle, hiding in a narrow alleyway as she took shot after shot with her combat shotgun, dodging flying rocks and screaming obscenities all the way.

They held hands and drank whiskey, detailing all their most pathetic victories. Cait laughed harder than she had laughed in a long time, clutching the seams of her corset.

They fell asleep with her bedrolls lined up together that night; Cait wasn't one for cuddling but all night they stayed close, tangled limbs and her soft breath on her skin. Cait was surprised to find comfort in the body heat and human contact. Something she rarely had unless it was all about fighting, the meaty metallic feel of smashing her fists into someone's face

They pause for a second at the of the foot bridge, under the stretched shadow of the statue in the setting sun. The reinforced front entrance of Sanctuary lies ahead, the soft whir of turrets in the distance is a comforting sound.

“Thank fuck,” Rocky says with a whistle as they stroll through the massive junk gate, greeted with the familiar sight of people and brahmin and humming electricity.

Once they make their way to the common house, Cait makes it a quick step to the bar on the first floor. She greets the bartender with the kind of smile that Cait only offers up expecting to get a drink or a hit of psycho in return.

Fine little town Rocky's set up here. The common house is four stories high with a lookout tower on top, the big eyesore of a recruitment beacon jutting out. Rocky lives at the top, she was a lunatic about high places and surveying the land, mapping it out, gaining an advantage. Rocky barely slept at all and spent most nights in the lookout tower.

Across the street, the ruined houses were built up and turned into storefronts with settlers shilling ammo and clothes. Occasionally if luck's on side, a trader comes through with a decent weapon or two.

Around the back by the waterfront is the farmland, full of tato and corn and razorgrain up to the tits. A couple of steady folks keep things going, but the rules are simple. Everyone has to chip in a bit, whether it's cleaning the manure out of a brahmin pen or tilling the soil under the hot sun. Cait prefers dismantling scrap with Codsy in the warehouse near the back entrance, even if the little bot does get on her nerves.

The town is a little maze-like and built up tall, but everyone's got a bed and enough free food and water to go around; that's more than Cait's used to, more than the Combat Zone ever had to offer. She throws back a couple pints with the ghoul Mayor and the stammering kid with the sniper rifle.

Hancock could give Cait a run for her money. Usually, she's not fond of ghouls, but this one's a fucking riot: got all kinds of sordid stories that make Cait laugh and hoot, sharing a jet inhaler and a pack of crushed cigarettes. He's got quite a handsome smile too, all things considered. The way he walks around the bloody place like he's got a dick like a brahmin bull, she's got a good sense to think he was quite the looker in his time. Maybe, she's not a surprised Rocky keeps him around.

MacCready's a lightweight, telling his weepy story about his dead wife and a sick kid. Cait's not fond of that teary-eyed shite, so she usually blocks it out, waits until he's telling stories about one-shotting Deathclaws in the fucking head. She almost doesn't believe him, making that sound she makes when she can't roll her eyes hard enough.

"I swear, Cait!" He shouts, louder than he needs to. He's trying to impress her; it almost makes her grin. Hancock just laughs at the whole thing, gestures for another drink. "I 'wear on my life." He hiccups but he clumsily pulls a leathery looking deathclaw finger from a pocket in his ripped tan duster, the claw still a sharp point.

"Holy shite," Cait says reaching out to touch it. She has to admit, the kid's a good shot, even drunk out of his mind. He's a real help during a raider attack even if he's a little bit wobbly getting up the ladder to the sniper's nest. His aim is always steady.

Not her style but she can appreciate someone finding their own way. Ain't that what they're all trying to do out in the wastes?

Rocky's band of misfit friends all gathered out in the middle of nowhere. They all come and go as they please, but Sanctuary's an easy place to hang your hat.

The kid's shitfaced by midnight and Hancock loses a cap flip to Cait over who will drag the mess upstairs to his room.

Cait rubs her tired eyes and finally starts to feel the heaviness in her limbs from a full day of hoofing it across the Commonwealth. As she climbs the stairs towards her little room on the third floor, she burps out loud, and it tastes like fermentation.

"Nice one," she hears a voice from up the last set of stairs. She peers up at Rocky standing at the top in just an undershirt and jeans, cuffed up at the ankle.

Cait focuses her drunken eyes up at her and smiles, "I'm a woman of many talents, what can I say?"

Without a thought, Cait finds herself pushy enough to climb to the tiny deck of a floor that leads up to Rocky's room. The deck and the sniper's nest above it are common space, and loads of people come up during the day to admire the view.

The one thing Cait hasn't seen is the inside of is Rocky's room. No one has, she thinks. Even the filthy dog hangs around outside in his dog house, and Rocky loves the stinky mongrel.

"What're you up to?" Rocky asks, plopping down in a lawn chair overlooking the settlement. "I need your help."

Cait can see that Rocky's taken the time to wash the dried blood and gunpowder out of her hair. To be honest, Cait likes her a bit dirty, when the vault dweller's rough edges are showing.

Cait was more than privy to the idea that women could be as brutal and ruthless as any man. That's what survival did to people. It made doing what needed to be done justified. Morals were gray and hazy, right and wrong subjective in the pursuit of a greater purpose. Everything is perspective; Rocky taught her that. The only hope was that there were people out there who shared that same perspective.

"What are you on about?" Cait says, already suspicious. "Haven't I helped enough? Luggin' your junk half way across the Commonwealth."

Rocky clicks her teeth in that familiar way that drives Cait nuts. "Calm the fuck down, okay?" She levels, and Cait's not sure how she can make swearing seem so nonchalant—friendly, even.

There's a pause and Cait raises her eyebrows pointedly as if to allow her to go on. Rocky just laughs and knocks back the rest of a glass of whiskey that's sitting on the rickety table next to her. "I need a haircut."

"I'm not a fuckin' barber," Cait counters. Her swearing always sounds indignant.

"I know, but I fucking tried to do it myself, but the back is all shitty and crooked."

Cait laughs out loud. She's not known Rocky to be a woman fixated with appearances, despite her ability to charm the pants off any man or woman unfortunate enough to fall into the black hole of her wit and unusual beauty. Rocky knows the power of sex, of attraction. Her flirtations were usually a distraction for something much more dubious. Or much more practical, depending on the perspective.

But Cait agrees to do it for a swig of that fancy whiskey she knows Rocky's been hiding. Rocky considers that a fair trade. She disappears into her room for just a second before reappearing with an object in each hand. She hands Cait a pair of remarkably unrusted scissors and the half empty bottle of whiskey. Cait takes the bottle by the neck first and takes a couple of big gulps; it barely burns on the way down, and that's how she knows it's the real shit. Pre-war.

"You sure I'm gonna be able to trust you with a sharp object after that?" Rocky smirks, taking the bottle back for a healthy swig of her own.

Cait wipes her mouth and fits the scissors into her right hand, "I do my best work fucked up, I'll have you know. I'm a right shining example of a functioning drunk." She makes her way around the back of Rocky's chair.

She makes a quick thing of trimming up Rocky's dark black, unruly curls. It's about shoulder length like it normally is and mostly even from what Cait can tell, squinting one eye. Most days it's shoved inside of a ushanka hat or pulled into a messy knot on the top of her head, anyway.

She remembers when she first saw her in the Combat Zone. The hail of fucking bullets and blood, cowering in the cage with Tommy and the carcass of her latest opponent. Rocky had cleared the place quickly and effortlessly, her usual style, sauntering up to the cage like she'd just happened to be there, surprised to see them waiting.

Her heart thumping in her chest from the Psycho, Cait only remembers how beautiful she thought Rocky was. Her sharp feline eyes looking them over, and the rosebud of a mouth with raw lips and the small flatness of her nose—all red against the sun-drenched brown of her skin. Her hair was long then, when she was fresh out of the vault, a new face, a target. It was pulled back into a braid, crusted with old blood, swinging heavy against her back as she moved. Her hands were rough and her face bruised, but she moved with a fluidness that was bright and purposeful. She was the strangest, most beautiful thing Cait had ever seen.

She looked like a lamb but was really a wolf. Cait never forgot that, even as they walked out of the Combat Zone that night.

"What? Shit, is it really that bad?" The other woman is looking up at her expectantly, shaking out her hair with her fingers. Her teeth gleam in the dim light, and Cait knows she's joking. "What are you thinking about?"

Cait snaps out of her thoughts and brushes the loose hair on the ground away with her boot. "All done," she says, not answering Rocky's question.

But she isn't off the hook that easy. Rocky raises her eyebrows and stands, carefully takes the scissors from Cait's hands, placing them on the table. "Fantasizing about me?" Rocky asks bluntly and like always, Cait's not sure if she's joking.

"I..." Cait trails off, and it's more awkward than she wants it to be. "I dunno." What does that even mean?

Rocky laughs and Cait should be annoyed; she doesn't like being laughed at but the shorter woman's already taking some very deliberate steps towards her. It's suddenly so apparent that they're alone up there, full of whiskey, and standing so close Cait can see a rogue strand of hair cut loose but clinging to Rocky's cheek. "You look good," Cait says finally, picking up the piece of hair with her fingertip and showing it to Rocky.

"Can I make a wish?" Rocky says. Cait looks confused at her. She has no clue what she's talking about but Rocky blows on her fingertip, and it's too dark for either of them to see where the hair goes.

She tells her about eyelashes and wishes and superstitions, but the redhead doesn't get how that relates to haircuts and whiskey and how the wind is howling so loud up that high that they have to huddle close to speak.

"Well, what did you wish for?"

And like that, Rocky's mouth is on hers. It happens so fast Cait's not even sure what's going on. Her body takes over, and her hands steady themselves on Rocky's arms, she thinks she might push her away, but instead, she pulls her closer.

Rocky takes that as an open invitation and Cait feels her soft lips and her tongue is gently coaxing her bottom lip. Cait drowns in the taste of whiskey and cigarettes, the warm wetness of their hungry kisses.

They stumble a little, unwilling to break apart as they move together, away from the stairs and any prying eyes. Rocky slides her arms around the taller woman's neck, and their bodies are flush, every piece of them pressed together. Rocky bites her lip and Cait growls, pushing her against the outer wall of Rocky's quarters. Their hands wander. Rocky grabs fist fulls Cait's ass, pulling their hips firm against each other. It's all clumsy and rushed but no less enjoyable. Cait's fingers find Rocky's nipples through the thin fabric of her white t-shirt, thumbing them to a peak, punctuated with a little pinch. Rocky whimpers softly into their kiss and Cait can barely keep it together.

She tastes so fucking sweet, but the heat is beginning to coil in the pit of Cait's stomach so quickly, she's reeling. The kissing and petting are not enough. Cait slides her hands down the curve of Rocky's waist, and her fingertips find the waistband of her jeans quickly, fumbling to undo the button and zipper. Her skin is burning hot.

Suddenly, Rocky pulls back and looks Cait in the face. Her eyes are hungry; half lidded with dark lashes turned down, and her cheeks are flush. Cait worries for a second that her friend, comrade, whatever, is beginning to come to her senses and realize she doesn't want to fuck some Irish junkie with a loud mouth.

"No, let me." Rocky's voice is velvet. Her smile is like a fucking electric shock through her core and Cait thinks she'll let her do whatever she wants. Rocky flips them around, so Cait's got her back pressed up against the wall. Rocky doesn't hesitate to get to her knees, pressing little kisses to Cait's hips as she undoes her pants and makes a slow torture of pulling them down over her hips.

Cait can't be hasty enough getting them off, kicking them blindly off to the side. She wouldn't be surprised if they fell right off the side of the building.

She looks gorgeous, kneeling between Cait's legs. She widens her stance and Rocky lets her eyes flutter closed as she draws the first slow licks of her tongue along Cait's pussy, already slick with arousal. "Fuck," Cait swears, leaning her head back.

Rocky braces her hands on Cait's hips, teasing the lips of her cunt with her tongue. She can't see with her face buried in her pussy but Cait's almost positive, she can feel her smile. "You taste so fucking good," Rocky says, muffled, raking her short fingernails down Cait's thighs to make her shudder.

"Oh, oh, God." Cait pants as Rocky fingertips circle the entrance of her cunt. She thrusts her hips forward, and Rocky pulls back, just giving her enough to set her body on fire. Rocky's lips close around Cait's clit, and it earns her a loud moan. "I need more, fuck, more," Cait manages to stammer out, as Rocky sucks on her clit, flicking it with her tongue over and over again at a staggering speed.

Cait lets out another unabashed moan and practically melts as she feels Rocky's finger finally slide into her pussy, meeting little resistance. Its warmth drew her in. One finger and then two, slowly pumping in and out as she continued her unrelenting pace with her tongue on her clit. "Goddamn, you're so good."

When Cait's legs begin to shake, Rocky does her best to steady her. She pulls back, and she continues to push her fingers into the spongy spot inside of Cait's pussy, sending shockwaves through her body. Rocky knows what she's doing, pushing Cait closer and closer to the edge. She's looking up at her with a sweet smile, her mouth slick with Cait's wetness, shining in the moonlight.

Rocky presses her free hand against Cait's hip as every one of her muscles tense, squeezing down tight on Rocky's fingers. And when she finally comes, it feels like her chest is full of sunshine, bursting through her rib cage as she lets out of a string of vowels that might be Rocky's name. Cait almost collapses on top of the other woman, gasping for air but Rocky catches her.

They're both panting and slick with a sheen of sweat. Rocky lets out a soft sigh, pressing tender kisses along Cait's hipbone.

As the buzz of her orgasm fades, Cait blinks her eyes clear and keeps them locked on Rocky as she stands, licking the taste of her off her lips with that stupid smile. Cait smiles back and reaches out to lace their fingers together.

The sun is just beginning to creep up on the horizon, casting an orange light on the water and the bridge and Sanctuary itself; it's beautiful, and Cait thinks she might be a romantic after all.


End file.
